


Weeping Angel

by CelticKnot



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 08:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticKnot/pseuds/CelticKnot
Summary: The mysterious Woman watches The Doctor struggle with an agonizing decision. Her POV on a scene from "The End of Time."





	Weeping Angel

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this, and a number of other Doctor Who one-shots, back in 2011. I'm porting some of them over from FFN.

I had known this wasn't going to be pleasant, but it still broke my heart to see him in such a state. Battered, bleeding, and hardly able to stand, he wavered. The revolver looked out of place in his hand as he aimed it first at Rassilon, then at Koschei. His entire form trembled, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

But the worst part of it was the look in his eyes: desperation, despair, and a pain that had nothing to do with his physical wounds.

He looked so young. He _was_ young yet—all his centuries should have been but the beginning for a Time Lord. But the things he'd seen, the things he'd done, had aged him prematurely. Nine regenerations he'd burned through already, and he hadn't even seen his first millennium. His past weighed heavily upon him, slowly crushing him.

I wanted nothing more at that moment than to take him in my arms and comfort him, as I had when he was a boy on Gallifrey. But he had to face his demons alone.

Alone. That seemed to be his fate always. Even as a child, he'd been lonely—oh, he'd had his friendship with Koschei, but they had been too fundamentally different to have any sort of lasting bond. And now here he stood, all but the last of his people, his only companion helpless, enemies on all sides. All roads leading to death.

That, more than Rassilon's orders, was what made me cover my face. I assumed the pose of the Weeping Angels not out of shame, but out of grief, staring out through my fingers. It had been centuries since I'd seen him last, and now I was going to have to watch him die.

Another metallic click, and he faced The Lord President once more.

"The final act of your life… is murder," Rassilon taunted him. "But which one of us?"

I couldn't stand it any longer, and lowered my hands so I could look at him properly. Knowing him as I did, I knew he would take Rassilon's poisonous words to heart. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I silently prayed that his resolve would not weaken.

My movement must have caught his eye, because he looked away from Rassilon and at me. As recognition dawned on his wounded face, the angry determination melted from his features to be replaced by hearts-rending sorrow. In that moment of contact, I saw centuries of guilt and horror come crashing down upon him. His eyes begged me for the kind of absolution only I could give.

_I forgive you,_ I told him silently. _You did what had to be done. Now you must do so again._

How appropriate it was that he stood upon a compass rose, for at this instant, everything revolved around him. He possessed the Moment once again, and what he did with it would determine not only his own fate, not even the fate of the Time Lords or planet Earth, but the fate of the Universe and of Time itself.

Once more he turned the revolver on Koschei. I held my breath, waiting for the gunshot that would destroy two men. Praying the terrible sacrifice would be enough.

But before he fired, he spoke. "Get out of the way."

I watched in astonishment as Koschei threw himself to the floor, and the bullet tore through the device that held the White-Point Star.

A sudden wind swept though the room, and we five displaced Time Lords staggered against it. He had done it!

"The link is broken!" he shouted over the howling of the Vortex. "Back into the Time War, Rassilon! Back into hell!"

Despite his defiant words, there was no triumph in his voice. He stood tall, but there was no pride in his posture. In his Moment of victory, he looked the picture of defeat.

In his mind, he'd just destroyed us. Again. And in a sense, he had. But perhaps it was his curse that in mourning what was lost, he always forgot how much more he had saved. If he couldn't save everyone, then in his eyes he had failed.

Billions had died at his hand. But how many trillions more owed him their lives?

He hated himself, feared himself more than anything else in all the Universe. And so he stared defiantly at Rassilon as the Vortex pulled us inexorably backward, fully expecting to die with us, almost welcoming the end. It was devastating to watch.

But I have never been so proud.


End file.
